All posts filed under: ‘Headquarters’ (Online Fiction)

Well the truth is, you didn’t survive, but luckily we had a spare available.’ Prompt From Promptuarium ‘Yeah’, thought Cas, turning her hand in the dim light, ‘a spare.’ Dawn split through the forest canopy, turning the world grey and allowing her to pick out the pale scars crisscrossing the skin she was wearing. The story that the doctors had told her on waking sounded like a bad fairy -tale, full of holes and easy to pick apart. They seemed to have forgotten that replicates were supposed to be perfect, unblemished. They weren’t created with scars already littering their bodies. Her’s though? She remembered looking in the mirror and seeing the scar that ran from hairline to jaw, crossing her face like someone had started to draw an ‘x’ through it. The hair had been cropped too close for her to tell what colour it should be but now the ends were growing through blonde, and her eyes… well at least they were interesting. Curling her fingers into a fist Cas brought her hand close …

Originally posted on Headquarters: There had been some oddities since the start of the war. Weapons that didn’t have quite the intended effect they were supposed to and cities that vanished overnight. That was when people starting moving below ground. What had started with single bunkers turned into networks and then communities, all of which expanded deeper and further until whole cities were living beneath the earth’s surface. One piled on top of the other, layer and layer jumbled together. Headquarters had estimates, approximations for population sizes and military capabilities, but most of the time they were blind to what was going on outside their organisation. Top-side they could keep watch; most of the satellite feeds that had existed before the war were now under Headquarters’ control. However, there were still some areas that Sasha couldn’t view remotely from her office. She had to send men to gather in-tell, survey blind spots and dispatch enemy forces using those hidden spots to encroach further than they should. It didn’t matter if she was practically running on…

Originally posted on Headquarters: Sasha checked the wall of screens again, their soft glow falling across her desk as she shuffled papers in the gloom. No sign of any incoming attacks, and most of the western borders were quiet. Something of a skirmish had broken out just north of Paris but her boys were taking care of that; it was nothing to spend time watching. Leaning back in her chair she double checked, eyes glancing from screen to screen before settling on the keyboard in front of her. Dear Mr President she typed, fingers hesitating as she debated what to put next. She hovered, glancing back up to see if her boys had finished with the outlying force yet and then re-focused her attention. ‘Dear Mr President…’ she read the words back to herself and wriggled her fingers. Discussions must be opened… her fingers stopped again. There was no use in it, no matter what she wrote there would be no answer, GODS! There was no evidence to suggest anyone still living top-side still gave a dam about…

So this was how my day started, which really should have been a warning about how the rest of it was going to unfold. I’ve spent my work hours trying to fix problems while new ones kept popping up to do the cha-cha across my desk, mocking me as I hurried out to run errands. I survived though! And now I’m sat at home ready to do yet more work! Yay! Darkened Daughter is still ploughing ahead, last night I managed a 3,000 word chapter in just over an hour. I even fitted in writing a poem, and today I might have come up with a short story idea. Writing is going well. Over the past couple of days this blog has even seen a spike in stats, which is impressive as it has sorted fallen to the wayside as Darkened Daughter pushed on past. 3,000 words a night doesn’t leave much time for blogging… or housework for that matter. My apologies to the patient pile of ironing still sat in the living room, I …

“I wouldn’t touch that!”Timothy’s gloved finger hovered an inch away from the gloopy mess situated in Dr Jessamine Bell’s lab while the boss herself tapped out instructions on the hologram screen behind.“Is it dangerous?” he asked, retracting his hand and ramming it safely into his lab-coat pocket. “Haven’t tested it yet. Could just be gunk with severely funky odor.”Timothy nodded, eyes still fixed on the sample. “They found it topside right?”“Yeap,” said Jessamine, popping the ‘p’. “But why bring it back?”Jessamine shrugged. “Supposedly saved the Director’s life.”“How?” Timothy asked.“Stopped her bleeding to death.” Photo Credit: Madison Wood It’s been a while since I wrote anything for Headquarters so I thought to myself, why not use this prompt as a chance to come up with a couple of new characters and a new idea to move the story along. Now I just have to write the segment which covers the finding of the gunk with severely funky odor

Grant lowered the maps quietly onto Sasha’s desk and turned to leave the room at the same steady pace that he’d used to sneak in. “How did the scans not pick up their presence, how did they creep under our radar, how did we not know about this Grant?” Stringing together an eclectic concoction of curses in his head, Grant stopped and spun around to face Sasha, the surveillance screens shimmering in front of her as they switched from location to location. “At least you got you brother out alive and we have now been alerted to the threat, I think a plan of action instead of questioning your performance as leader of Headquarters might be a more productive use of your time right now, don’t you?” He watched as the muscles in her jaw started their off-key dance and held his breath, he suddenly didn’t want to know what plan of action was about to roll off his boss’ tongue. I wanted the ‘Headquarters’ segments to work just as well on their own as …

“So the place has really gone to crap.” McGregor said, arms folded across his chest as he leant against the wall. We were still stood on the platform, him on one side and myself at the furthest point away from him that I could find. I glanced up at the ladder to see if Thomas was visible yet. “Yer, I suppose so.” I said. “Don’t really know much different though. Been this way for a while. When it started some people put it down to a nationwide funk that we’d all snap out of eventually.” “You don’t say?” McGregor’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “So what happened?” “Harrington.” I told him. “And Headquarters?” McGregor asked. “Those who could got out. Those who stayed were beheaded.” “You’re joking right?” he said, chuckling slightly. Shaking my head I reached for the railings behind me and curled my fingers around them. “Harrington showed it on the news, had the top five men from this sector of Headquarters executed for treason. He’s got some sort of …

“You used to live here?” I’m not sure what I expected when Thomas asked me if I was free for patrol but delving into the Rot was certainly not on the list of considerations. Creeping down from the north-east of the town the Rot was residential once upon the time, converted when the war started to act as a military base and research centre. Most of the buildings were empty shells, the real infrastructure stretched out below in case of bombings, though in the end they hadn’t dug in deep enough. “I must have been about six when the war started.” he tells me, aiming a torch down the torn out hole in the flooring. “I don’t think anyone expected it to reach us here, thought Europe would keep it contained.” “We were Europe.” I say, trying to focus on the corridor leading away from us instead of his boots balancing on the edge of the floorboards. I tuck a stray strand of blonde behind my ear and glance back. He keeps one hand splayed …

“Not quite roses I’m afraid but it will have to do.” I looked up to see Thomas leading two of the guards into the Warren, Harrington’s chancellor slung between them. “You shouldn’t have.” I told him, falling into step as they walked down to the pit. “It isn’t Valentine’s Day.” (Image Credits: Ideflex Across the Bored) Previous Post Next Post

Jamerson called it the catwalk. A strip of metal three foot across that ran from Saint Mary’s Tower to the Maltings, weaving in and out of ruined buildings. Thomas was hunkered down about halfway along, eyeing something that I couldn’t see yet through the rifle sights. He pulled the trigger once, a pop then shattering glass, someone, something howling beneath us. He swore, shifting the rifle slightly to his left as if hoping to take aim again. “They’ll of scattered.” I told him, drawing level with his position. “Hit anything?” “Not enough.” he scowled, shouldering the rifle as he stood. Next Post